Mornings are meant to be beautiful. I've always thought this. A release from the darkness; the beginning of a new day. However, in the summer months, this becomes almost impossible.
Because everything is so. freaking. hot.
I woke up because of the heat. It was the middle of August. My body was sick of being underneath the pile of blankets it takes for me to feel comfortable and safe, and so my eyes shot open at a quarter to one. My stomach grumbled. I grumbled, too.
I dragged myself to the kitchen and started eating a slice of cold pizza. "Brunch," I said, raising it in the air as I plopped onto the ground. "We're posh now." I took a bite.
"What do you want to do today?" I asked Salt, whom was curled up on the carpet next to me. She stared at me with her big green eyes. "I agree," I said. "Paint."
I dug out my canvases and watercolors and opened all the windows, thankful for the breeze that swept through the room. I took out some records, too, choosing 'Revolver' as my first album to sing to while I painted.
The hours passed and I continued on, switching albums whenever they ended. Salt roamed around and stared at my brush sometimes, becoming mesmerized every so often as she walked by. At 3 o clock she got very excited, however, as Jimmy walked in out of the blue.
She meowed quite loudly and sprinted to the door, tail wagging like a dog. "Hey Salt!" cried Jimmy, getting down to his knees in his fancy suit to pet her black fluff. He looked over at me and smiled. "Hey pretty lady."
"Hey yourself," I said, shooting him a grin before continuing with my art. He walked over to see what I was doing and Salt followed at his heels, still mewing up a storm.
"....snow?"
I glanced up. "Mm-hmm."
He smirked. "You really hate this heat, don't you?"
"Yes, I do." I swirled the brush around in the water, watching it turn more white.
"Is that why you never leave the building anymore?"
I blinked. No. That's not why. I painted a carrot nose onto the snowman in the forefront of the painting.
"Tasha."
I gave him a frown made of coal.
"Natasha?"
I dropped the brush onto one of the newspapers and looked up. He was bearing into me with his chocolate eyes, having just said my name - my actual name - in a soft, somber voice. He reached out and gently held my face in his hands. "You don't need to lock yourself away from the world because of what happened."
A lump hit my throat. He wiped the single tear that fell with his thumb. "You really don't need to."
"Yes I do," I choked out.
"No, you don't," he said while my eyes formed more tears. "Do you know why?"
"Why?" I asked, waiting for what I expected him to say - 'you're an adult', 'it was two months ago', 'it's all in your head'.
"Because I will protect you from anything and anybody that ever tries to hurt you." My eyes widened. "You don't have to worry about anything, okay? I love you so much. I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you. Ever." He gently took his hands off of my face, and I instantly reached for them.
"You really mean that?"
"I really do," he chuckled. "Come on. Let's go somewhere - anywhere you want."
I sighed. "I don't know if I'm ready. Plus, what if the press sees us?"
"You are ready," he said. " And they won't - we can be sneaky."
"How do you know?"
"Because we're excellent at sneaking."
"Not that!" I laughed. "How do you know I'm ready?"
Jimmy tilted his head. "Because I just know. You're a strong woman. You've got this. You can do this."
For some reason I believed him.
He stayed in the living room and played with Salt while I took a quick shower. By the time I was out, long hair in two messy French braids, he was clearly dressed a little differently. "Where'd you get the t shirt and jeans from?" I asked.
"Oh, I left some clothes in the closet last time, y'know....just in case...."
I blushed. "Just in case?"
He smiled and shrugged. "Yeah." He reached for my hand. "Are you ready?"
I nodded, even though I wasn't completely sure, and interwove our fingers. "Let's go."
The elevator ride was the longest thing in the world, but still not long enough. My legs were shaking and so were my hands. Jimmy turned me towards him and swung me in close for a kiss before the doors opened. It gave me just the amount of courage I needed to walk past the place my dad had waited and into Jimmy's car.
My heart was pounding. "Good job, babe!" he cried, starting the ignition. "I knew you could do it."
Nausea was boiling within me, along with a terrible sense of dread. "I'm so scared," I muttered. He held my hand.
"We'll just go for a little drive, okay? Just a little drive. And then once we come back, you can teach me how to paint."
"Okay," I said quietly, squeezing the life out of his poor fingers. He turned on some music.
"What do you want to listen to?"
"Do you have any twenty one pilots?" I asked.
"Who?"
"Twenty one pilots," I repeated. "They're this band I found. They're really good."
He shook his head and handed me the cord and I plugged my phone in, shuffling 'Vessel' (my favorite TØP album at that moment). "Holding On To You" started to play.
"Oh, wait," said Jimmy, "I think I had them on my show one time...last December?"
"Yeah," I remembered, "you did."
We drove in silence to Tyler Joseph's rap-singing and the roar of my heart under my clothes. With every turn of the wheel, I thought of my dad. Why did he do this to me? Why did he kill himself? Why couldn't he just stay away from alcohol? Why wasn't his love for his family strong enough to combat the urge to drink?
"See?" said Jimmy. "This isn't so bad."
I gulped. "Maybe for you."
He stopped as we came to a red light. "You love New York. You've always loved New York. Don't let him ruin it for you - don't let anybody ruin anything for you."
"I wish he hadn't."
"He hasn't," said Jimmy softly. "He hasn't ruined it - not yet. Not ever. I won't let him."
"How?" I asked, feeling angry. Fallon, you don't understand at all.
"This is your dream city," said Jimmy. "This is where you dreamed of living all your life. This is where your music took off, where you were picked up by a label, where you met Adam....," he sighed, "....this is where we've spent most of our time together."
I tore my eyes away from the window and glanced at Jimmy. He looked nervous, almost like the fact I was saying New York was ruined for me meant he was ruined for me, too.
"Jimmy?"
"What?"
"Look at me."
He turned his head. "What is it?" he asked. I leaned over and kissed him slowly, intimately, with no regard to who might've seen us or where we were or if the light was still red.
"I love you, okay?" I said simply after we broke off. "Nobody is going to change that - not even my deadbeat father." The sparkle had returned to his eyes, as had a red tint on his cheeks. The light turned green and I sat back in my seat, feeling a little less like the world was going to end.
"I can't believe that just happened," he said breathlessly.
"What?"
"You've never kissed me like that before," he giggled.
"What do you mean?" I asked, digging into his embarrassment as much as I could. I loved to be a tease sometimes. His blush was only getting darker.
"You know what I mean."
"Do I?"
"Natasha Quinn, when you french kiss somebody out of the blue like that, it usually isn't taken lightly, okay? And you knew exactly what you were doing!"
I smirked. "I know."
We circled back to the apartment and headed back into the elevator. It would be a slow process for sure, but I could feel my confidence returning. And like the faint blush still evident on Jimmy's face an hour later as he was knee-deep in his own snowman painting, the positive mark left on my mind was slowly whitening the dark spot left by my dad over New York; someday soon, I'd have my life back, and it was all thanks to the goofball with a paintbrush cackling next to me. He was teaching me to forget, but most importantly, he was teaching me to forgive.